


That First Time Feeling

by rahleeyah



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahleeyah/pseuds/rahleeyah
Summary: Written for the Jeanuary Big Bang on Tumblr, prompt is: firsts. Jean and Lucien experience an unexpected first together.
Relationships: Jean Beazley/Lucien Blake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	That First Time Feeling

Jean threw her head back, panting, her hands fisted in the sheets as her body arched, pleasure coursing her through hot and fast as lightning. Her heart was racing, her chest heaving though her lungs felt too tight to breathe, her skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. In the moment there was no thought, no fear nor guilt; in the moment, there was only Lucien.

A trail of clothes from the door to his bed told the story of their journey here in silent eloquence. How he had come home to her, his collar undone, his tie askew, his eyes beseeching her forgiveness, how she had faced him, her heart aching and uncertain, how his quiet remorse and the rage that simmered low in her belly had crashed together, how his hand had reached for her, and refused to let her go. _You've never been just the housekeeper to me, Jean,_ he'd said, her back to him as she tried and failed to find the resolve to mount the stairs, to leave him behind. _Not to me, not ever._ How she had looked back at him, and how in that moment she had been lost. How one kiss had turned to many, how her hands had plucked at the buttons of his waistcoat while her teeth caught against his lip, how they had tumbled through the doorway together, Lucien kicking it shut while Jean kicked off her shoes. How they'd torn the clothes from one another's backs, eager, hungry, how they'd fallen into his bed together.

The marks on her skin had a story to tell, as well, her lips swollen from his kisses, her breasts red from the burn of his beard, the rippling muscles of her stomach clenching with each pass of his tongue against her tender sex, hot and wet for him, because of him. This path Lucien had charted of his own accord, drunk his fill from her lips before moving down and down, blessing every inch of her skin with reverent kisses, his hands trembling as much from her as from the drink. He tasted like whiskey when he kissed her but she'd grown to love the burn of it, and she knew him, now, inside and out. It wasn't the whiskey that made him take her to bed; it was her, finally letting him.

It was Lucien who'd chosen to slide his hands along her bare legs, to cast them over his wide shoulders, Lucien who'd caught her soft thighs in his two strong hands and clung to her while he surged into the cradle of her hips, lips and tongue delighting and inflaming her. It was Lucien who ground his cock against the mattress in a desperate bid for relief but carried on, determined to do this thing for her first. This wild, spinning, maddening thing, suckling against her until she was mewling and undone, all sense of propriety and restraint forgotten. It was Lucien who had offered a way out, and Jean's sudden terror at the thought of losing him that set her free. Whatever had happened, whatever would happen, whatever people might say, however the church might respond to having an adulteress in their midst, none of that mattered, so long as she had him, this wild, reckless man whose knuckles were bruised from brawling. He was _hers,_ and she was his, now. _Til death do us part._

Once before she had prepared herself to come to his bed, made the decision with all the clarity of forethought, arranged her hair and makeup just so, slid a a gauzy nightdress over her nakedness with a mind full of images, full of imaginings, full of hopes of how he might be, when she finally let him touch her as she so dearly wished he could. An untimely interruption and the sudden resurgence of Jean's morals had stopped her then. This night could not have been more different. She'd been wearing trousers and a workaday blouse, tired at the end of a long and painful day, her heart wounded by his lies and the cruelty of her neighbors. When he came stumbling through the door she had not thought to let him take her, but perhaps this moment was all the sweeter for its impulsivity. They had neither of them planned it, had not prepared for it, had both been caught off guard by the depth of their need for one another, but there was beauty in the letting go, in the way they allowed themselves to be swept away together, drowning but clinging to one another still.

And _oh,_ but there was beauty in the way he touched her, in the way he focused all of himself on her, the way he begged forgiveness with the devotion of his body. She had forgiven him already, of course, for she understood why he had done this thing, felt it in the press of his fingertips against the trembling flesh of her thighs, holding her tight to him. It was fear that compelled him, fear of losing her, fear of hurting her, fear that all their plans would be for naught, fear that they would never find their way to this place together. Jean understood, for she felt the same fear in her own heart. There was nothing she would not do to keep him with her.

"Oh, _god,"_ the words tore out of her on a shudder as Lucien's tongue delved inside her, her hips rocking up towards the heat of his mouth, eager for more. His hands tightened their grip and his beard burned against her tender flesh as he drove closer to her, as if he could not ever be close enough, as if they could occupy the same body and yet yearn to be closer still. His nose brushed through curls crisp with her wetness and she felt his breath hot as fire against her, but he did not recoil from her, seemed instead enthralled by her, seeking more, and more.

That clever tongue of his darted away and her whole body ached with the need to be _filled_ , filled with _him,_ to be complete, and whole, but _oh_ that clever tongue was tracing circles round the center of her need and it was nearly enough to drive her mad. Nearly, but not quite.

"I need," she managed to gasp.

A grunt left him, a sound that was almost a question, though he would not pull his mouth away from her long enough to speak.

" _More_ ," she panted.

He must have understood her for his right hand abandoned her thigh, and joined his mouth instead. His lips sucked hard against the bead of her desire as two thick fingers drove within her aching wetness and finally, _finally_ she could feel it, him warm and solid inside her, something to bear down against as the fury of her pleasure drove her ever higher. Her body nearly left the bed, her hands supporting her as she rose up, a full throated cry of pleasure leaving her lips, uncontrollable and wild, the way he had made her. She was close, so _close,_ to a feeling she had not known for so long now; it had been two decades since Christopher left her bed for the last time, and in the intervening years she'd never met a man worth taking the risk for, and the church said to touch oneself was a sin. Jean was no saint, and loneliness and need had gotten the better of her more than once, but a few quick minutes with her own hand between her legs was a far cry from _this,_ from Lucien's shoulders hard and steady beneath her calves, from her heels drumming against his back, from the determination of his lips, sucking hard against her while his tongue played her body like a violin and his fingers demanded her pleasure, all of it, every last bit.

" _Yes,"_ and " _please,"_ she gasped. Ordinarily it was Lucien who could never stop talking and Jean who held her tongue, but he had made her into a wild thing, and she could not stop herself, and somewhere deep inside she knew he'd enjoy it anyway, that hearing her pleasure would please him almost as much as tasting it. He needed the words more than she did, and she could hardly stop herself in any case.

" _Good, you feel so good, sweetheart."_ She'd not called him that before. _My darling_ had fallen from his lips a time or two, testing the waters of their newfound intimacy, but Jean had been afraid to give him too much, afraid of how much she wanted to, afraid they'd never make it from their engagement to their marriage bed without defiling the sacraments of the church. It was too late for that now, not just because Lucien had long since defiled her with his tongue, but because the church had decreed their marriage would be a defilement in itself. _Damn them, then_ , she thought. There was nothing so holy as love, and if they could not see it then they were the ones who would be cursed.

And _oh,_ but this felt good, better than good, his fingers curling up hard against her, unrelenting, fierce in their search for her pleasure, and she felt it roaring towards her, her own cries drowned out by the pounding of her heart until at last the wave of release broke over her head and sent her tumbling, her body shuddering as her sex clenched Lucien's fingers deep within her, tight as a vise, and the world went white hot and blinding, exploding in one last high-pitched squeal from her, and all the while Lucien traced his tongue against her, drank her like his whiskey, insatiable and undeterred.

For a moment or two she lay gasping and boneless, sinking into the warmth of those sheets that smelled like him while still his mouth and hands traced over her dripping folds, but at last the need to kiss him brought her back to herself, and she patted absently at his shoulders. With one last kiss against her sex Lucien raised his head to face her, his eyes bright, and hungry, and hopeful, his lips glossy with her.

"Come here, my love," she said to him. She'd not called him that before, either, had only ever told him that she loved him once before, the day he'd finally put his ring on her finger, but the words came easily to her now, and his answering smile was brighter than the sun itself.

Slowly he slid himself up her body, letting his lips revisit all the places he'd stopped along the descent, painting her own wetness against her skin until at last his mouth was hovering over hers. His cock, hard and heavy, settled against her oversensitive folds and a shiver ran through her body at the sensation, but Lucien did not rush to couple them. Instead he brushed the tip of her nose with the tip of his own, and smiled down at her in wonder.

"That was...marvelous," she told him, and laughed at the smugness in his eyes.

" _You_ are marvelous," he answered, kissing the tip of her nose. "Magnificent," he added, and punctuated the word with a kiss to the corner of her eye. "Mine," he said, and dropped a kiss at the side of her mouth. She might have chided him for his presumptuousness, but she was feeling merciful at present, and it was true in any case.

"Do you know," she said, running her hands along the scarred terrain of his back, delighting in the warmth of his skin against her own, "that was the first time…" her voice trailed off, shyness overtaking her as the adrenaline left her system.

"Surely not the _first_ time?" Lucien asked, incredulous, and she realized then that he had misunderstood.

"Not the first time ever, you goose," she told him, laughing and pressing a kiss against his chin. Of course it was hardly the first time; her marriage had been a happy one, and she and Christopher had been young, and madly in love, and they had spent years exploring every avenue of lovemaking available to them. It was hardly the first time she'd had a man's mouth between her legs, the first time she'd fallen apart in her pleasure, the first time she'd taken a man to bed before she was wed. All those firsts had come many, many years before.

"That was the first time with _you,"_ she explained, wondering if he understood the importance of what she was trying to tell him. "There will be other times," she ran her hand over his broad shoulder, and he looked so pleased with himself - and the prospect of the _other times -_ she could not help but laugh again. "But I will always remember the first time you made me feel this way."

"So will I, my darling," he told her, and then he bowed his head and kissed her soundly, and they began again, a discovery of firsts, together.


End file.
